


Nevermore

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Scientifically augmented memory loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Sherlock returns to find John has undergone a procedure that removed his memories of his time with Sherlock. Does Sherlock interfere with John's new life in a small community where he is known and loved? Does he have the right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nevermore

**Author's Note:**

> The procedure that John under goes is actually something that science is working on to help returning veterans over come the PTSD (post truamatic stress disorder). I often get ideas from sources in news stories concerning science and technology.

“You were meant to protect him!” Sherlock ranted as he slammed his fist onto Mycroft's desk eliciting a startle reaction from his always-composed elder brother as he loomed over Mycroft's space.

“Carter Smyth was a former associate of John's, Sherlock. It was felt John was meeting an old colleague and nothing more.” Mycroft stared into the enraged face of his younger sibling.

“So you minions didn't think to check to see what this Carter Smyth does for a living?” Sherlock was not going to let up.

“He's a research scientist who is looking for ways to treat PTSD.” Mycroft intoned neutrally.

“By removal of memories with the administering of deploymerizing actin into the amygdala of the brain!” Sherlock fumed.

“The research was in animal pretrial stages, nothing should have happened. There was no sign that anything would transpire, Sherlock.”

“But it did.” Sherlock's gaze burned into Mycroft's eyes.

“Yes, it did. Dr. Smyth's activities were highly questionable.” Mycroft admitted. “John asked his friend to help him by affecting his memories, not his war time memories. He chose to forget you.” Mycroft looked down at the papers on his desk. Not really seeing them, he chose not to view the shattered look on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock turned approaching the windows of his brother's office. Staring out at the graying skies that encompassed London.

“He's move out into the country, rented a small place, living on his meager pension. The community embraced him after a horrendous fire occurred in a local cottage industry building. He was on hand at the time of the fire saving and administering aid to many of the victims. Everyone calls him Doc, though he is not working as a doctor there. He patches and stitches up the minor injuries that take place, stabilizing the more difficult injuries for transport to medical facilities in larger towns. They love him Sherlock and he wants for nothing. It's been two years and your mission to destroy Moriarty's web is done, you are finally finished.”

“Why wait to tell me now?”

“You needed to focus on your self-imposed assignment. I thought it better to leave this vital information for your return.” Mycroft looked with affection at his brother's back.

Distraught, Sherlock knew he would not have been able to complete the destruction of Moriarty's web if he had learned the truth of John's choice.

Sherlock touched his hand to the cold glass of the window. “What do I do now, Mycroft? I never wanted to lose him. I did what I did to protect him, keep him safe. Do I have the right to enter his life again? Can I take away his happiness?”

“You gave two years of your life to save him, what are you willing to do to regain your relationship once again?” The emphasis that Mycroft used on the word relationship told Sherlock all he needed to know about how much Mycroft knew of his love for John.

“I'm going to view his situation first hand and see for myself how he's doing. Then I will evaluate whether or not my return would be warranted.” Sherlock turned toward Mycroft huffing a deep sigh edged with anger. He left in a swirl of his great coat.

(-_-)

It is a small place named Eep. There were mostly older individuals, a few families, with much of the younger generation having moved away to the more crowded and modern cities. Sherlock found John easily. He set himself up in a small cottage not far from where John lived and watched from a comfortable distance at first. Being close to John again after so much time away was agonizing. He wanted nothing more than to go up to him, take him into his strong embrace and just feel the steady rhythm of John's heart, but one didn't just embrace a stranger without reason.

(-_-)

Sherlock took an easy pace to catch up to his new neighbor as he walked up to John. They were on the road to town. John turned, their eyes met, midnight blue savored silver/blue. For a microsecond, Sherlock saw John’s facial expression register confusion, anxiety and shock. There and gone, John’s mild expression returned.

“Morning.” John said with a nod of his head.

“Morning. Sherlock Holmes’ staying at Gate house.” 

“Nice to meet you, John Watson.” 

They continued on talking about Sherlock’s unusual name, the weather and the little town of Eep.

(-_-)

Next Sherlock ventured to call on the good doctor for medical assistance. He walked to John's small cottage and knocked on the door, which John had only recently repainted.

“Hello, John, I was told in the village that you can help with minor medical issues?”

“Yes, Sherlock. I do help here and there, everyone calls me Doc, but actually, I don't work as physician any more. Come in, can I get you a cuppa?”

“Yes, that would be good.” Sherlock said with a small smile. Making tea was still John's favorite past time. Sherlock coughed a deep and productive sound that belied his recent illness.

John led him to a tiny kitchen and set the kettle on to heat. “You want to undo your shirt a bit. I'll get my things and be right with you. John pulled his med bag from under the cupboard and opened it taking out the equipment he needed. He moved to the sink to wash and glove up. Pulling a chair next to Sherlock, John took out his stereoscope and warmed it with his hand. Placing it on Sherlock's chest he had him run through the normal breathing and coughing modalities. John finished, noticing a large gash on Sherlock's side that needed been attended to.

“You're recovering from lobar pneumonia. Luckily, for you it is in the last stages. I’d not call that a minor health issue, by the way. I can give you some essential oils to put in steaming water. Breathing the vapors will ease your symptoms. How did you get this cut? It needed stitches, but it has been open too long now. I'd like to clean it up and dress it if I may? Overall I'd say you are under weight, you are smoking too much and you are generally run down.” John looks at Sherlock for the acceptance of the offer to dress the wound.

Sherlock nods approval. “My brother sent me out to the country to mend. I've been pushing myself too hard for the last couple of years due to my work. It has taken a toll on my health. With the pneumonia, my appetite hasn't been good. I'm afraid I've never been a big eater. I hate eating alone.”

As John cleans the wound with gentle, experienced hands, Sherlock takes in John's living space. No computer, an old refurbished cell phone, to say the space is Spartan is to be too generous. John wears the same clothing that Sherlock remembers him in from years ago. John was sheltering himself in time. Locking away his forgotten past not letting the future intrude upon his life.

“Well, you must come to dinner with me. I'm a fair cook; I do make good comfort food. More times than not many of the women of the village, see to my epicurean needs on a grand scale. So you can eat well when you eat with me. I don't like to eat alone either. In addition, if you come round I can check on your wound as well as feed you up at the same time. What do you think?”

“I will come if you allow me to bring food or supply money to help with the meals?”

“Then it’s settled then, all companionship and assistance would be gladly accepted.” John said his smile alight with good humor.

Sherlock's heart broke. It was so good to see John's smile. He only had his memories of that smile for two years.

 

(-_-)

It was the next day Sherlock stood at John's door once again.

“Ah, you're in serious luck, Sherlock. Mrs. Bramlin has delivered an excellent pot roast with several ample side dishes. We feast tonight, come in.”

The small cottage was warm and the aromas of the home cooked meal filled the air sublimely. They sat together at John's small table and ate well. Sherlock, not one to indulge in a many meals, found himself eating in companionable silence. Drinking in John's presence much more that the delicious food.

“So are you enjoying your stay here, Sherlock?”

“I'm glad for the change of pace. Eep is a welcome respite where I hope to mend, but I miss the activity and engaging qualities of London. She calls to me constantly.”

“So you plan on returning to her when you are better?”

“I'm not certain of that,” Sherlock replied.

“What do you do there?” John asked as he stood to clear the remnants of the meal.

“I was a consultant working with the police.”

“Consulting ̶ that could be boringly dull or terrifically exciting, yeah?”

“I'm afraid it’s both, but it’s gotten into my blood and part of me longs to return to it.”

John returned to the table with steaming cups of tea and a locally made fruit tart dribbled in a golden honey.

“My word,” Sherlock said, “if I'd known about dessert I'd have eaten less dinner.”

“I'm not one to force feed a house guest but I will make you watch me as I devour mine.” John took a fork to his tart. True to his word, he ate and enjoyed it down to the last crumb.

“Why did you move here, John? You obviously were a military doctor, there is a tiny tremor in you dominate left hand. Possibly a wound that sent you home from the war?” Sherlock pulled his tart closer and slid his fork into a plump berry.

“Yes, how observant you are. I was a doctor in the war. Invalided home after an infection in my wound nearly killed me. I was in London for a couple of years, but unfortunately I was in an accident and the injury to my head caused me to lose those years. Therefore, like you, I've moved here to rest and recuperate.

“Will your memories ever return?” Sherlock listened intently.

“With brain trauma it’s always iffy. There's no guarantee one way or the other.” John said looking into Sherlock eyes were a brief sadness flashed, but only for a microsecond before they returned to their familiar blue/silver light. Was it John's imagination?

(-_-)

They passed many weeks in good company and great food. First dinners, then dinners and lunches. Sherlock added small amounts of body mass to this tall thin frame. John took him for walks in the countryside showing him the beautiful spaces and hidden places surrounding Eep.

They were finishing another fine dinner when John asked. “So is there a nice woman waiting for you in the heart of London?”

“Not really my area of expertise.” Sherlock answered with a tilt of his head. He saw John's interest come alive.

“Then maybe a boyfriend?” John asked his voice accepting and kind.

“I've not found anyone interesting enough – until now. You fancy me. You have from the time you and I passed you on the road to town weeks ago.”

John giggled. “You are an observant brat, aren't you, Sherlock.”

“I try my best.” He replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

John moved from his usual chair to sit next to Sherlock. “I think you'll find my credentials and expertise more than up to the task of being interesting.” John took Sherlock's face in his small, strong hands and tenderly kissed that exquisite mouth which had enchanted him from afar. The kiss lingered and Sherlock breathed into the electricity of his arousal.

Then, slowly Sherlock backed away. He'd dreamed of this, of knowing and owning John's love. They hadn't been lovers before the fall. It had never gone that far. John had wanted it. Sherlock had been the one who was reluctant to disturb the equilibrium of their blossoming friendship. What was he to do? Begin again a new relationship or try to resurrect the past? Their strong friendship had always leaned towards a lover’s intention. Sherlock's mind traveled down so many paths.

John moved closer again for another kiss and Sherlock was lost. He surrendered to John's touch. His desire overpowering logic, reason and common sense.

(-_-)

“You weren't kidding when you said you'd not found anyone interesting before.” John held Sherlock close in their shared bed.

“I learn quickly,” Sherlock, countered as he stole another kiss. Knowing his lack of experience showed.

“Yeah, but you don't have to learn everything the first time out. We'll take everything in measure, you'll get where you want to go. I'll make sure of that.” John pressed his fingers through Sherlock's riotous hair, beginning to massage the scalp that covered that massive brain. Sherlock's eyes closed and John could hear the faint rumble of his voice deep in his throat that was a good imitation of a lion's purr. Did lions purr?

John, healer, protector, provider and now the generous lover whom Sherlock never knew he could not give up.

(-_-)

Sherlock slept the sleep of the well shagged. Eyes blinking slowly as the light coming from the crack in the curtains touched his face. He stretched and his nose told him a full English breakfast awaited him. Slipping into his pants and his abandoned shirt, he made his way into the kitchen.

John was bringing warm plates to the table. Instantly Sherlock was aware that something was terribly wrong. John was tense and his eye contact came and went.

“What's happened, John?” Sherlock felt the pit of his stomach clench in fear.

“I didn't mean to touch it. It vibrated and slid out of your jacket pocket and onto the floor. I picked it up to put it back and I saw.”

“Fuck.” Sherlock exclaimed. His mobile had been set to vibrate and it was deep in his pocket to conceal it. The jacket thrown haphazardly upon the small couch. The default screen was a selfie of John and Sherlock laughing at the camera phone at the end of the case, the case before the fall. This was the only image of John that Sherlock had been able to take with him as he'd downloaded the address book and photos from his discarded phone on the roof of St. Bart's. The image of John laughing, happy and carefree was the only thing that kept him sane, focused and spurred him on when his world looked beyond shite.

“John, I can explain.” Sherlock said brushing his hands over his face as if he could scrape away this terrible reveal.

“Obviously, we need to talk.” John said pulling a chair out for Sherlock. Would you like tea or coffee?”

Sherlock sat in the offered chair “Coffee, please. You are taking this fairly calmly.”

“I think we need to eat a good breakfast before we venture further.” John was amazingly calm and tranquil.

John placed the full platters on the table and took a seat across from Sherlock. He ate looking at Sherlock and his full plate in equal parts. They ate in relative silence. John cleared the table, setting the dishes in the sink to soak. He gave Sherlock a fresh cup of coffee and taking his hand – he led him back into the bedroom.

Sherlock took this as a good sign and scrambled back into bed beside John. Placing his coffee within reach – he got as close to John as he could, their legs and knees touching.

“That's us on your mobile? We were friends before weren't we?”

“Yes.” Sherlock didn't break eye contact.

“Were we lovers then too?” John was exhibiting a slight tremor in his hands.

“No. We were just good mates. You were my best and only friend, my flat mate. Sherlock wanted so much to reach out and enfold John in a warm embrace. Tentatively he moved to smooth away the bed hair that stuck up near John's temple. John took Sherlock’s hand and held it close to his warm cheek.

“You knew I was here in Eep before you came.”

“I've been away for over two years and my brother's been keeping an eye on you for me.”

John's eyebrows shot up. So I've been under surveillance by your brother. Tell me is Sherlock Holmes your real name?”

“Believe me John, I could think of a better moniker if it were up to me.” Sherlock smirked and John laughed a little.

“So tell me.” John said matter-of-factly.

Sherlock hoped he would be as calm when the story ended. He spoke of the 18 months that they had lived together, worked together and saved each other’s life. The rise of Moriarty, – The Fall – the gravestone request – John's visit to his colleague.

John was definitely in shock. Sherlock sat quietly, his only outer tell was the deep concern in his eyes as he attentively scanned John's face.

“I did this to myself. All to forget you, my time with you. It's hard to believe.”

“Possibly you need time to assimilate this information.”

“Yeah, I think that would be good. John was rubbing his temples and looking so very lost.

“I can stay, if you want.” Sherlock offered.

John reached out and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. His eyes were moist bright and he could only shake his head in the negative.

(-_-)

Sherlock let himself out into the beginning of the evening darkness. 'Fuckall, had he really just outed himself to John. Just made love to the only man he'd ever loved. Possibly completely, utterly ruined every hope of his relationship with John?' He didn't sleep all that night, pacing the small cottage until nearly noon of the next day.

A knock at his door had Sherlock rushing to open it, only to find young Jeff Waters standing on his doorstep.

“Mister Holmes, this is from Doctor John. He said to give it to you as soon as I could.”

“Thanks Jeff.” Sherlock reached into his slack's pocket for something to give Jeff.

“Sooaky.” Jeff said. “Doctor John save Ralph's life. My brother Ralph.” Jeff turned and left.

Sherlock ripped open the envelope with his name on it as he closed his door.

_Sherlock, when you receive this note I will have left Eep to return to my sister's just outside London. I'm not running away from you. You will find her address and my phone number below. If you know me then you know my sister and I don't get on, but I feel – well, I'm overwhelmed. I need a bit of time. Please come and visit me. I don't want to lose what we've found. I care about you and us. With respect and affection. John_

Sherlock was sad and happy at the same time. He already had Harry's address on his mobile and John's number too. He called Mycroft's PA, demanding that she get a car to him ASAP. He had to get back to Baker Street immediately.

(-_-)

221B had never looked more like home. Mrs. Hudson had preserved it in mint condition. Mycroft had continued the rental payments. Initially stating that he took funds from a trust that Sherlock had inherited, saying that Sherlock would have wanted John to be comfortable in Baker Street. Months after the fall, John moved away and Mycroft had to let Mrs. Hudson in on his real purpose. That Sherlock was alive and, hopefully, to return at some point in time.

Sherlock sat in his chair. Looking at his mobile. Should he call John? Text him? Go to his sister’s house? He stood and started to pace the floors of the flat.

Downstairs the door opened and closed as John leaned on its interior side. Even from the flat Sherlock could determine his former flat mate was experiencing terrible conflict. John started to climb the stairs to where Sherlock was. Sherlock’s heart sped up; he’d never thought that John would come to him.

John knocked softly on the partially opened door. 

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock was shocked to see John, the content and confident man he’d met in Eep was gone. John looked bone weary, disheveled, and so terrible lost. Sherlock came forward instantly.

“John, please sit down.” Sherlock drew John to his chair. “I’ll make some tea.” He hurried to the kitchen, flipped the kettle on and took the chamomile tea tin to the counter. Keeping an eye on John all the while.

He brought the full mugs to the coffee table along with a dish of biscuits. Then took his chair facing John.

“Sorry, I was walking aimlessly when this guy in a black Jaguar picked me up. Told me he was your brother. Brought me here, gave me the key to the door. I’m in a fog. I know you, but I don’t. I can’t believe that I would do what I did. I talked to Carter and he confirms that he did the procedure against his better judgment. He recommended that I come back to London. Go to the places that I used frequent. Talk to the people I used to know. You, Sherlock, you make me feel things, being around you is almost painful, but leaving you causes panic attacks and deep desire to return to your side.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “John, if you feel comfortable, I would like you to move back to Baker Street. I can help you review your life here. If you feel that it’s too soon, I understand. I want to support you in this 100%. We can go as slow as you need.”

“You said we weren’t lovers before you ‘left’.” 

“No, we weren’t. I take responsibility for that. I had been alone for a very long time. I pushed everyone away. When you entered my life, everything changed. I loved you, but feared that if I tipped our friendship into lovers that I might lose you.”

“I was hoping you’d let me stay here for a while. My sister is rubbish.” John gave an aggravated smile. I don’t know what I was thinking go to her place.”

“John this is your home.”

“One thing, though. Does your brother always kidnap your friends/lovers? Cause I definitely gave him grief about that.”

Sherlock smiled wickedly. You never took shite from him from the very beginning.

(-_-)

Sherlock helped John move back into 221B. All of John’s belongings went upstairs to his old room. 

Finally, the move completed, John sat in his old chair close to Sherlock.

“This feels really weird, Sherlock.” John was exhausted and still a bit shocked by the whole situation. “When we met there was something there. I thought it was sexual attraction.”

“It was for me.” Sherlock tilts his head and gives a tiny-mouthed smile.

“Yeah, I sort of got that.” John huffs a wicked smile back at Sherlock. “I don’t know what prompted me to delete my memories of you?”

“Mycroft said you were devastated. I thought that it was normal grief. I had no idea that it was so severe. I apologize John.”

John reached for Sherlock. Immediately Sherlock came down on his knees at John’s feet. 

“We may never recover those two missing years.” John carded the fingers of his left hand through Sherlock’s hair. I do want to know about them and I’m sure that you can give me a detailed account of what happened.”

Sherlock took John’s right hand and held it to his sensual lips.

“It will take me a while to recount that amount of time.” Sherlock kissed the hand he held lovingly.

“Then I propose that we take up where we were at Eep. I find you attractive, intoxicating and sexually arousing. I want to know you. You know me so you will have a distinct advantage, but I will just have to play catch-up. That okay with you?”

(-_-)

John lay asleep in Sherlock’s embrace. The sheets and duvet where comfortably tangled about them when Sherlock’s mobile vibrated. His long reach took the device off the bedside stand, a text from Mycroft.

//Glad to see that John has settled in. Do either of you require anything? MH//

//We require time and space to reconnect. Thank you, Mycroft. SH//

//I do not recall doing anything, which requires an expression of gratitude? MH//

//If I’d known about the memory augmentation. I’d have stopped my pursuit of Moriarty’s web. Rushing to connect with John immediately and it would not have worked. I would have destroyed whatever connection that might have developed. It was better to walk into his current life. SH//

The lack of reply was Sherlock’s answer. He put the mobile down and snuggled in close to his new/old love. He kissed the shell of John’s ear, nuzzling into soft flesh at John’s nape.

John reached back tugging Sherlock closer to him.

“Sherlock.” John murmured as ever he had in the past.

It was as if ‘his’ John was back. Sherlock felt grateful tears moistened his eyes. His long arms encircled John and held him impossibly close.


End file.
